


The Visitation

by Joshs_left_earlobe



Category: Everlark - Fandom, The Hunger Games
Genre: F/M, Queen Anne's Lace, everlark, r5d3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1360549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joshs_left_earlobe/pseuds/Joshs_left_earlobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss has been adapting to her new life in District 12 post-war, but nightmares and regrets persist. A few months after Peeta has returned, Katniss experiences a visitation from a loved one that helps her find her way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Visitation

This morning is different. Today, instead of waking to a flashback or nightmare, I arise to the birds chirping in the bushes outside my house. I wipe the moisture that lingers on my mouth from sleep and check on Peeta still lying beside me. It’s been a few months since he came back home, since that morning I found him planting the primroses below my window.

I cringe as I remember the state I was in when he arrived. What a mess I had become, my hair matted and clothes not changed for days. When he appeared, it was like a light turned on inside me. Suddenly night turned to day, the flowers bloomed, and I started hunting again.

Our reunion was awkward at first, but the daily routine helped us remember what life was like before District 12 was annihilated. We realized we had much more in common since we both had become fire mutts in the war and shared similar memories about the Quarter Quell and the Hunger Games before it.

The therapy Dr. Aurelius approved of creating our own picture book for our dreams, memories, and nightmares forced us to work together. Peeta needed me to fill in the gaps in his memory since he didn’t fully trust all of his visions. I helped him complete the pictures and reminded him what was real versus not real. I was reluctant at first because I would rather forget all the images that torment me, but it helped Peeta to remember, so it was the least I could do.

Peeta has moments when his body tremors, but when he draws, kneads dough, or performs other manual labor, his arms calm down enough to allow him to complete his task. But yesterday was different. He wanted to draw images from a bad dream he had the night before involving the children that were killed outside President Snow’s mansion. As he put pencil to paper, his hand shook and wouldn’t stop. I watched him, his face becoming more intense as he tried to still his shaky fist. I became concerned as I saw the drops from his eyes touch the paper below him.

I wanted to help him but I stood frozen in my spot. “Peeta? Peeta, what’s wrong? I…I…don’t know what to do.”

He glanced up at me with a look I had never seen before. I’ve seen many faces on Peeta, fear, love, hate, happiness, anger, but the helplessness he revealed to me was new and scary. I’m not the person that consoles. He is. That’s his specialty.

Peeta looked back down and muttered, “I need you to…I need…”

I did what felt natural to me. I moved toward him and squeezed him tightly. It wasn’t a hug, not a gentle touch you share with someone you love, but a strong grip around his arms and chest. I could feel him exhale as our bodies made contact. He continued shaking but quietly stilled in my arms. I felt his muscles relax so I let him go slowly.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, rolling his shoulders to stretch. “Thank you, Katniss.” His blue eyes took on a sheen from the recently shed tears, but I couldn’t look away. I was completely absorbed in hearing his response. “My emotions took over and I couldn’t control my body. I’m still working on that.”

I had forgotten what it was like to touch him, to feel his pressure against me. It took that moment between us to remind me how differently I respond to him than any other person I know. I suddenly wanted more, to feel him hold me like he did so many times before. I craved the warmth and completeness that overtook me in the Quarter Quell.

Not certain if Peeta’s feelings were mutual, I asked, “May I hold you for real now?”

“For real?” His lips curled up at one edge and he stared at me suspiciously.

I nervously looked away but persisted. “You know, it’s been a long time since you and I… we… you know, hugged each other… the right way.”

His face softened and sported an amused grin as he approached me slowly, his arms open. “You’re right, Katniss. Come here. I won’t hurt you.”

“I know you won’t,” I murmured as I collapsed into his embrace. The tingles started in my head and worked their way down to my toes and other places I haven’t felt in a long time. Peeta’s touch was like a drug for me, therapeutic, yet addictive, not unlike the morphling I had taken during treatment.

He may have felt the same way, as I heard him sigh into my ear. It was a sound of release, of comfort, of being home. When I reluctantly let go, I decided to push the boundaries and ask if we could try sleeping together again, to ward off the nightmares. We closed the book to save for another day’s work and now I find myself waking up in his arms.

I like to watch Peeta as he sleeps, his lashes are so delicate, just like him, but his arms are strong and stable. They twitch occasionally as he slumbers. His sneers and mumbles give me chills as I can only imagine what he suffered during his imprisonment. I lean in close to peck his cheek but stop myself. Am I going too fast? Will this put him over the edge? I decide to hold back for now and take it slower.

I miss the closeness we had in the Quarter Quell before Peeta was taken from me. I long for those true moments we shared, the ones that told Snow exactly how to hurt me, how to get to me deep inside my soul. We’ve come a long way since Peeta tried to kill me after his rescue, so I can only hope that time will heal. I quietly slide away to change into my hunting clothes and start the day.

As I walk through District 12, I realize I’m numb to the destruction around me. I have been working hard to stifle the sounds of voices, cries, and shots that ring in my head from the war. The survivors and those who came back to live here are doing their best to clean up and make it home again. Peeta and I have made gains, but we seclude ourselves to Victors’ Village mostly, with the exception of my daily trip to the woods.

I use the same route I always have and even hide my bow and quiver in the same tree. Call it habit, call it ritual, but it keeps me sane. I set up my snares just as Gale taught me, but my father is the one that first initiated me to the woods. When I walk among the trees, I often feel my father’s spirit with me. I can feel his capable hands protecting me from danger. I can hear his voice in the breeze that rustles the leaves. He’s all around me now.

As the sun becomes brighter, I know I’m near the edge of the woods. Patches of flowers dot the ground, heralding that springtime is in full bloom. My favorite dandelions are scattered about, those yellow topped weeds that fed my family years ago. I come upon another so-called weed, the wild carrot. It really is beautiful, the lacey white flowers appear feminine with a dark purple center on each bloom. I squat down to get a closer look, just barely touching the blossoms.

_Dark purple center. Nightlock pill. I just shot President Coin!_

The flash of the nightlock pill that had been tucked away in my pocket on the night of the execution haunts me. I can feel the beat of my heart quicken as I relive the moment when Peeta saved me from taking my own life after President Coin’s death. Had I bitten my sleeve pocket instead of his hand, I would not be here today. The sky suddenly feels as if it’s reeling around me.

I remember that time, just after I shot Coin, when I desperately wanted to save myself from capture. I remember feeling skin on my teeth instead of the fabric covering the pill, then I looked up to see his blue eyes fixed on mine. It wasn’t long after that the rebels took me, put me in isolation with nothing more than a mattress. I wasn’t certain about his intentions. Had he truly wanted to save me or had he wanted me to suffer because I had failed to protect him? I can only believe that he was doing what he had always done and had simply tried to keep me alive.

I gain my bearings as I approach the edge of the woods and decide to lie on the little bit of grass that’s barely sprouting. The sun, bright yellow, revives and renews all the plant life that was burned by the Capitol. I run my fingers over the tips of the grass, feeling the cool tickle on my palms. My lips form a smile as I relish the heat from above. Dr. Aurelius warned me about limiting my sun exposure while my skin continues to heal, but I love to soak it in.

Peeta and I have matching skin, all patched together, scarred but mending itself all the same. We make a perfect pair of fire mutts. I didn’t think his eyebrow would grow back, but it’s been sprouting on its own. I’m constantly amazed by our bodies’ relatively fast recovery and healing. I wish my mind would work just as efficiently, to forget all the tragic memories and remember only the good.

My eyes close to shield themselves from the fiery light above me when my mind wanders to Prim. I had always dreamt about bringing her here one day, not to hunt, but to gather the plants and flowers she used with my mother for treating ailments. She would have loved a day like today. The breeze is crisp and rustles the leaves in the trees with such an enchanting melody. I hum along with the sounds as I imagine how it would be for Prim to lie down right here beside me.

A tear escapes my eye, and as I feel it drip down my cheek, I become angry. I feel the hot fuming rage build inside. Why did she have to die? I volunteered to save her, not for her to be burned to death in the war. My tears become streams and I can’t stop sobbing. I sit up, unable to keep from choking on the warm liquid overwhelming me.

Suddenly, I shiver from the base of my neck and down my spine. I open my eyes and turn to see a spark of light flash but disappear. My legs propel me up and forward to see what caused that sensation but nothing is there. A soft hand touches my shoulder from behind when I hear her.

“Katniss. Don’t cry.”

Her voice is soft and calm. She’s not wearing the District 13 issued uniform that she died in, but her school outfit, a simple brown skirt and white blouse. Her hair is blonde and braided, the sun glinting off it. She beckons me closer offering her hand for me to grab. I take it, unable to comprehend why I’m seeing her, but hoping she’ll never leave me again if I hold on tightly enough.

“Prim! Is it really you? How can you still be alive? Did they do something to you?” I’m desperately searching for a reason to hope.

She places her finger to her mouth and shakes her head to shush me. She grins and pulls me forward to walk in the direction of the lake. This girl is Prim but different. Her hand is smooth, no ridges or dryness. Her eyes have a sparkle that I’ve never seen in anyone before. She’s surrounded by a prism that appears in the sky after it rains or when the sun hits a piece of glass at just the right spot.

As we tread further away from the woods and closer to the lake, I hear the laughter. It’s unmistakably coming from the voices of children. We slow our pace when I see them, surrounded by a light just like Prim. The boys and girls are laughing and playing, spinning and twirling together.

There are children dressed in simple district clothing and some in finer Capitol-wear. No one segregates themselves because of their differences; they are all laughing together as one group. There’s no blood, no misery, no more tears. I stand astounded, not believing what I see before me.

“Am I dead? What’s happening, Prim?” My limbs shake and my voice trembles as I speak. I wonder if this is what it’s like to die. I remember hearing people just before the moment they passed on my mother’s table talking to loved ones that had already died. Maybe Prim is here to greet me.

“No, Katniss. You’re not dead. I’m here to give you a message, to thank you for what you’ve done.”

I shake my head, fighting my tears. “No, no!! I couldn’t save you! I wanted to, but I didn’t get to you in time. It’s not fair!”

She smiles sweetly and takes my hand in hers. “Katniss, you saved me once by volunteering in my place. Don’t you understand? If you hadn’t done that, I would be dead and you would be waiting to hear about the next games.”

She loosens her grip and turns to focus on the children. “I died a quick death. I didn’t suffer. I’m here now with the children, exactly where I need to be. They are happy and free from sickness, free from hunger. Please don’t let the images that you dream about haunt you forever.”

At that moment, a ball rolls toward my foot. I bend to pick it up when a little girl with a bright yellow coat runs toward me, her arms reaching out to take it.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” Her eyes spark in recognition. She’s seen me before, and I’ve seen her.

_The Capitol girl!_

I remember clearly now. When I was trying to hide on the way to the City Circle before the rebels attacked, I witnessed the girl with the lemon yellow coat watch her mother get shot, and she died soon after. I remember her beautiful yellow coat, the one that should be full of life, become red with bloody death.

We had a connection just before she was killed. Our eyes met, but I was more concerned about hiding my identity and protecting myself than trying to save her. That is one of many horrific memories I’ve been trying desperately to forget.  

She smiles, the same sparkle in her eyes as in Prim’s. “Thank you for the ball.” With that quick exchange, she giggles and runs off to her friends.

I stand in a daze, unable to understand if this is really happening or if it’s another game my mind plays on me. I feel Prim’s energy return to my side.

“Katniss, I came here to show you that we are at peace. You need to find your peace as well. You can honor me and those that died in the war by living your life free of guilt and shame. You did what you had to do. I did not die in vain.”

I’m in awe of how mature and intelligent Prim has become. Even before her death, she helped my mother treat people with serious injuries that I would not have been able to stomach. And here she is telling me how to live my life after her death?

“I’m trying, Prim. I really am, but the thoughts keep tormenting me.” I feel hopeless. I want to live my life and move on, but so much tragedy has occurred. How can I forget about all that we suffered?

Prim continues, her smile gleaming like a beacon, “You know what you have to do, to thrive and move forward. You have exactly what you need now. Remember what always sustains you, how you’ve survived to this point. Keep those thoughts in mind whenever you lose your way.”

I feel her fade away, her image and those of the children changing to sparks of light, like stars moving back to their places in the sky. I’m still not sure if I was hallucinating like I did when I was on morphling in the hospital, but the message is clear. I need to move on, live my life so that the people that died didn’t pass for nothing.

As I make my way back through the woods, I trample over a patch of dandelions.

_Dandelions!_

She said I need to remember what sustains me. Dandelions and a whole assortment of roots and plants sustained us when we couldn’t find food when I was younger. Peeta was the one so long ago who triggered that idea and saved our family from starvation.

My pace quickens as thoughts flood my brain. My feet crumple the fragile blossoms, but the roots are stable. The weeds grow and are plentiful. Peeta and I might be fire mutts, but we’re like weeds with strong roots. We stay strong, we are stable, we persevere.

The sun, the dandelion, the yellow coat…that yellow brings us life. We must move forward; we must live and allow life to continue and thrive.

I must get back to Peeta now. I run frantically as I try to remember the images I just saw and the words I heard. Like a dream, it’s all fading too fast to picture in my mind.

I’ve been in a daze but am finally awakened to the truth. I must give in to the love I have for my dandelion, that yellow-topped wildflower waiting for me at home. I gain speed and my heart thumps faster to keep up with the demand, my need for his arms around me outweighing any call for rest.

I pass through the gates of Victors’ Village and stumble up my stairs with the expectation that Peeta’s still asleep in my bed. “Peeta! Peeta!” I call out hoping he’ll come to me immediately, but there’s no response. I wonder if this has all been a dream. Had we slept together? Is this real?

Barely able to catch my breath, I run to his house. I try the knob and find it’s unlocked, so I rush in to find him in the kitchen. I stop abruptly, a sense of happiness and peace swallowing me as I watch him, elbows deep in flour, kneading dough on the counter. His thick, scarred arms work the floury mixture as his muscles contract.

He peers up from his work and smiles a charming grin. “I can’t remember the last time I slept so peacefully. Thank you, Katniss.”

I look down bashfully. “Me too. I was worried when I didn’t find you in bed.” Now I know it was all real and not just my imagination.

“I heard you leave, so I decided to get up early and make you some cheese buns. I have a batch already baking in the oven.” He stands up proudly, and I’m surprised how my heart flutters in response.

“Peeta, you’re always thinking of me. I don’t deserve you. Haymitch agrees.”

He laughs. “Since when have you ever listened to Haymitch?”

Raising my eyebrows and nodding in agreement, I move closer to him. It’s important I tell him about my revelation.

“Peeta.” My voice is softer now as my hand lightly touches the flour dust on his forearm. I look up to his welcoming blue eyes. “I saw Prim by the woods. She wasn’t real, but she spoke to me, showed me images of the dead children playing and happy. It gave me some peace of mind.”

His brow furrows as he listens to me speak. He pulls his hands from the dough and wipes them on a towel, then turns and takes me in his arms. The relief and comfort I feel when I’m wrapped up in him is unexplainable, but perfect.

“Tell me what she said,” he murmurs in my ear. “I want to hear everything, every detail.”

I hear that beautiful and familiar sound of his beating heart as I explain all that Prim shared with me. I do the best I can to describe the sounds of the children and the stunning colored light surrounding my sister. Peeta’s the artist with paints and with words. I’m not, so I need to give him something to work with for him to create the vision in our book. He can give it life.

Once I finished describing everything I’d experienced earlier, he pulled away from me to look into my eyes. “Katniss, we’ve been through more than I would wish on anybody, but we’ve survived and are still here. I hope that last night will be the beginning of many more we will spend together.”

As his look pierces me, warming my blood in all the right ways, I simply nod and answer, “Yes, many more.”

The pull of his lips is magnetic, drawing me in without thought or sense of control. His eyes remain open as mine close waiting for his softness to overtake me. I feel myself gasp as our lips touch, the warmth filters through my skin, pours down my throat, and finally quenches my thirst. His hands move up, no longer quivering, now steady as ever, and grab my head on either side. He pushes his lips against me harder; his tongue seeks refuge with mine as we rediscover each other.

I revel in the kiss as I appreciate that we’re in our own tiny world. This is essentially ours to create as we want. My answer is clear. It’s Peeta. He’s the one that sustains me. His light allows me to grow. He is my sun.

Our lips part and I feel his nose bump mine playfully. I can’t help but giggle and look down, embarrassed that I’m acting so childish. Peeta takes my chin with his finger and scans my features.

“What are you thinking about right now?” he asks, sincerity gracing his expression.

“I’m thinking my favorite color isn’t green anymore.” I nod with conviction.

He chuckles, surprised about the topic change. “So what’s your favorite color now? Orange, like Effie’s hair?”

“No. It’s yellow.” I muss his hair with my hand. “Yellow, like your hair.”

“And like Prim’s too.”

“Yeah, yellow like Prim’s.”

I reflect on my sister’s visit, her message to me, and the sense of freedom and empowerment I have because of it. That, coupled with the stability Peeta provides, fills me with a love that’s completely unexpected, yet perfectly welcome.


End file.
